Careful what you wish for
by Vault166
Summary: People often wish for things, and do so in many forms. Like praying a for a brilliant daughter, or Crying for their grandhcild to show just a smidgen of magic, or perhaps for your child to survive something tragic. Some even sacrifice others for a chance at gold, or perhaps to please some absent god... well be careful what you wish for, you might just get it.
1. First to be Divine

Petunia Dursley had a good life.

She woke up to a silent house, her body warm from sleep before getting ready. Throwing on a summer dress, and heading down stair to find her nephew sitting on the couch staring at the telly.

Sneaking up on the young boy she snuck up behind him, before doing a playful roar noise as she grabbed her nephew. Lifting him into the air as she tickled the poor boy silly.

Harry the ever cheerful boy giggled his eyes glittering just like Lily, as his black messy hair shook wildly in his squirming. Looking oh so much like his father as he smiled, the same mischievous one he liked to show off.

She thought doing her best to ignore the ever present lightning bolt scar upon his forehead. Smothering the boy with kisses she brought him over to the kitchen sitting him down in a chair, and sliding it over to the stove to keep an eye on the boy as she cooked.

Firing up the stove it wasn't long before the scent of bacon overtook the house, as she did her best to explain cooking to the six year old as he chewed on his finger. However the boys scarily green eyes never wavered from her face, as he listened intently.

Once breakfast was done cooking she went upstairs and dragged her young boy down to the table. Patting them both on the head as she gave them their food. She roll an amused eye as she watched one boy scarf his food down like a starving man, while the ate slowly like some sort of food critic.

Sweeping a bit of hair blonde hair our of Dudley's hair she sighed in exasperation, as the boy pouted at her with his father's great blue eyes.

Eating her own food with the manner her parent had pounded into both her, and Lily's heads when they were younger. Cleaning off her plate she picked up the boys dirty dishes and set out to clean up the mess.

* * *

Toweling off her hands, she looked at the pair of arguing boys fondly, as they quarreled over some TV show. Probably over what pokemon was the best again.

Walking over to the boys she used the towel to wipe their mouths, uniting the boys as they both pouted at her in an utterly adorable fashion.

It was perfectly normal that she glomped the boys soon after.

* * *

She giggled as she watched her children play around with their toys. Harry running around with a toy Airplane while Dudley vroomed a van across the floor. Both of them occasionally trying to convince each other that theirs was better.

Eventually both got tired of toys cars and moved to the their toddler sized lego's. With Dudley building them as strong as can and harry doing his nest to knock them down afterwards, a game they called godzilla.

Attentively helping Dudley build or when they switched(Rarely as it was) Helping Harry build. Neither of them needing any help with destroying the construct.

She was mildly surprised to hear the door ring with an annoying trilling sound. Leaving the boys to their play she went to the door.

Wondering who it might be all the way.

* * *

Harry roared playfully as he imitated the fierce king of monsters, tearing away at his cousin's incredibly well built structure. As time went on it was getting harder and harder to break down what Dudley built. Although this only made it more fun for Harry.

Tearing at the plastic blocks he roared again as he he ripped off the top of the skyscraper imitation. Grinding away at the building he let out a triumphant roar when he finally tore away it's foundation.

Looking towards Aunt Tunia for assurance of his victory, only for confusion arise as he found she was no longer sitting with them. Turning towards Dudley he found his fellow child to be just as confused.

Looking around the room her found his aunty opening the door. A look of surprise on her face as she opened the door before she smiled.

His victorious feelings of warmth returning he ran after her. Dudley trailing behind him as he attacked his aunts leg.

"Aunty! Aunty! I won! I won! I even got to the bottom and everything!" he babbled happily. "Harry!" His aunty said exasperatedly. "Are you just going to ignore our visitor?" Blinking young boy looked out the door only to find-"Uncle!" he shouted jumping into his Uncle Vern-y's arms, Dudley following soon after.

Harry simply hugged the man as he picked them both up. Dudley babbling a bit as he hugged his Papa's arm. "Me and Harry were playing Godzilla and harry was all like *ROAR*, and my building went all *CRUMBLE* and it was so cool! and-"

The whale of a man that was his uncle simply chuckled beseechingly at his rather talkative child. Playfully laying a sloppy kiss on both of their foreheads.(although he took care to miss harry's scar)

Harry loosened one harm from his uncle embrace to wipe at his forehead with his sleeve, Dudley following suit as his Uncle chuckled. Aunt Tunia leaned forward and did something strange with her lips, on Uncle Vern-y's, that made Harry and Dudley groan in disgust.

"Now what do we deserve this early visit for? I wasn't expecting you until dinner Dear?" She said as his uncle put Dudley down, only to shuffle nervously as he looked at his wife. "Well I got a call and they said I could bring him by today…"

He could see his aunt's smile fade ever so unnoticably, as she rolled her eyes. "Vernon I thought we talked about this." she said in exasperation "Last month we said we'd take him, and everything that come afterword… even if it is a bit on the strange side." His uncle winced a bit at the last part. "Yes, yes, I know, I know." Uncle Vern-y said his hands up in a placating gesture. "This will be the last time and if it doesn't work than that's that. But I can't well stop now after all I was raised a christian man and it wouldn't do for me to stop trying so early."

His auntie sighed, as she sent her husband a look that said she would listen for now. "Come on deary I got a real good feeling about this one. They're real stand up people and they say it will work I want to give a shot." He said beseechingly

That seemed to have convinced his aunt, as she conceded to her husband. "Okay Vernon if you really believe this will help… But." She said her eyes full of steely metal things. "This will be the last time."

Uncle Vern-y nodded his head comically, shivering just the smallest amount from his auntie's look. She turned towards him and gave him a small hug and a kiss. "Now you and your uncle are going somewhere and I want you on your best behavior young man." she said with severe look.

Harry nodded in a similar manner to that of his uncle. Aunty Tunia rolled her eye's at them before taking Dudley into her arms. "Now Dudders Harry and Uncle are leaving. So let's say goodbye."

Dudley waved at Harry happily, yelling an exuberant "By By Harry!" as his uncle stepped out the door with Harry in hand.

Moving around Harry's booster seat with some quick maneuvering(And without putting Harry down). Harry was soon all buckled up in the front seat, as they set out onto the road.

* * *

Harry stared out the window watching trees and hills of the countryside fly by. He and his uncle singing a wheels on the bus as they drove on. Harry wasn't really sure how long they'd been driving but it must have almost an hour now.

The suburban area of Surry having long disappeared for hills and woodland. At some point harry must have fallen asleep as his uncle shook him awake. "Harry. Harry! We're here!" Yawning Harry put his hand up to be picked up. Uncle Vern-y smiled as he picked up the small boy.

Harry was much too tired to pay much attention, but the towering cathedral of the brick work church certainly held it for a bit.

'Oh so that's whats going on' thought the six year old, it had been a while since the last time it had happened. But occasionally his uncle would take him to one of these stuffy churches, where the priests would shout weird things at him, or throw water at him.

It wasn't all bad though, as that was how he'd met Father Mikey, and the ice cream he always got afterwards was great!

Sniffing a bit he buried his head into his uncle's chest and, day dreamed about flying motorcycles, and green skies.

Next thing he knew his uncle was shaking him awake, looking around blearily, the six year old found himself in what looked to be a church proper. Only for his uncle to call his attention a reassuring smile on the man's face as he stared down at the boy in his arms.

"Now Harry I'm going to leave you with Father Perfide, and I want you to be on your best behavior, ok?" Vernon said sternly, Harry looked to this "Father" Perfide only to find a tall man with pale blond hair, and clerical clothing. The man looked young-maybe in his late 20's- with brown eyes sparkling with something some would call youth.

Harry felt himself go on edge as the smiled at him, he didn't know why the smile was quite genuine, nor was it cold, and it most certainly reached the man's eyes.

But something about it seamed false, like the man had sewn a face over his own in order to hide. But Harry was tired and didn't think much about it. Simply nodding to his uncle and asking tiredly. "You'll come back?"

His uncle smiled down at Harry, and answered honestly. "Yes Harry I'll come back. Now I have to go back to work okay?" Harry nodded smiling, even as the father moved behind. "Now harry of course I assure I'll make sure you get home okay."

Harry waved goodbye to his uncle as he walked away basking in the warm bubbly feeling in his chest as he felt the truth in his words. The priest said, patting him on the back comfortingly. "No need to worry, he'll be back before you know it."

All warmth left his body at the priest's words, why?

Cause he could feel the lie in them.

Such were the last thoughts of Harry potter before the feeling of a cloth covered his mouth, and the world went dark.

* * *

When Harry woke next, the world was blurry, and indistinct. All sound was drowned out in what seemed to be the roar of waves. His head hurt like someone was shoving a hot pike into his brain. It was so painful, that it took him a long moment to notice that there were people around him.

They were wearing purple robes with black designs, with only strange masks and hoods to protect their identities. Four braziers were the only light in the room, making it impossible to see the walls, or the ceiling.

His mind unable to connect any of this together as he tried to nurse his headache only to find chains around his hands and feet.

Then the world blurred again, only coming to focus after what seemed to be hours. The strange people chanting in a even stranger language. Harry started to panic, unable to understand what was going on, crying like the child he was as the chanting hit a high note. every word acting like a nail shoved into his skull.

" _Nihil est juramento potestatem nostram invoca da fortitudinem tuam et invocáto"_

Harry didn't understand so he cried and screamed, anxious anxiety and overwhelming panic leading him to cry and scream endlessly.

Especially when one of the strange people drew a knife from within his robes. The chanting reaching an all time high as the man shouted.

" _Magister mortis vocat ad hallowe accipe sacrificium!"_

The man said bringing down the knife, and sending directly into Harry's heart.

* * *

Harry gasped air gulping air into his lungs as his hands clambered over harsh fashioned, black rock. His heart beating like a stampede, as tried to calm himself. Checking over his hands for shackles(Just to make sure), and his hands wandering his chest looking for knives, only to gasp in fear when his hands felt the handle of a common kitchen knife embedded in his chest.

His first thoughts were to get it out, as he clawed and tore at the handle only to find it rooted in his heart. Crying and fear, and panic at his failure he tried to stand.

Climbing to his feet he Smothered the panic, that tried to suffocate him and did his best to turn his attention to other problems.

For one where was he?

Searching the area he found himself on a what appeared to be a floating black platform. It was made of a strange almost unearthly rock, and when he looked towards the edge he found only void waiting for him.

Scampering himself back from the edge with his hands, fearfully as if looking would cause the platform to drop out of the sky. Only to bump into a path that he was sure hadn't been there before.

Looking at the path he could see the end, only about ten twenty feet away, lay a large black pillar. Something nudged the back of his mind. He needed to go there, or he… or he was going to _die_.

So the seven year old stumbled over the black substance, tripping and uncoordinated. His skin feeling like it belonged to someone else as he tumbled into a railing that he was sure hadn't been there previously.

As he walked his skin felt like it was starting to itch, his muscles strained and his bones ached in a way he was unfamiliar with. It was as if something was judging him and it's very gaze was causing this strain.

By the time the pillar was close enough to touch, the railing had faded away, and he had finally caught his breath.

Looking at the pillar he found himself fascinated by it's every amazing shape and wondrous curve. He reached out to touch it, like a child in the face of a fire. Only for the pillar to start dissolving into a black and gold powder. Swirling and churning over the place where the pillar once was, before it halted.

Like a breeze stopping mid motion, then it started again, but this time the dust floated away, caught in a wind that Harry could not feel.

He watched it float away, disappearing off into the distant void. He was momentarily disappointed by this before something caught his eye.

Gasping in wonder Harry found a throne made of the same black material as everything else, with gold etching covering it, in the pillar's place. Trailing the one of the gold engravings with his hand. Harry wanted to sit in the throne… but something felt like it was preventing him.

It was a strange feeling, like something was stuck in his chest… wait a minute.

The knife that was what stopping him!

In an almost absentminded action He grasped the knife's handle, and pulled. It slid out smoothly, this time. His blood still covering it as the feeling disappeared, and he sat upon the throne.

A shockwave rippled out from the throne. In the real world Werewolves howled, Whales rose to the surface singing their songs, the strange robed people, a part of a cult, slit their own throats.

The Void reverberated throughout reality spreading it's influence over the world and wiping away some odd, cosmic atrophy that had token hold of it. In the coming month the world would find whale populations sky rocketing, and strange charms floating ashore. Dreams of place filled with darkness and strange floating places, would haunt magical's for months before seemingly disappearing.

Wizards everywhere disregarded this sign, all but a rare few thinking it unimportant.

And as Harry sat on his throne in the void his hand idly twirling the knife that had made him a _God_.

However through all of this the void slinked around the hole within Harry's very heart, and did what the void did best…

 _And seeped in through the cracks..._


	2. Second to Shatter

Charles Edgemore was a scrawny man, with ragged brown hair cut into a short 90's style, his skin a typical british pallor, and several well hidden silvery scars inhabiting his skin like fish in the ocean.

He wasn't much to pay attention to with his scruffy looks and cheap dollar store clothes, most people ignored him, like a particularly disgusting cockroach and, well he was fine with that.

He was only too happy to go so unnoticed, and left alone to do his job at the hogsmeade bakery. He loved his job, being able to make sweets and other such delectable treats to give the young wizards witches that visited hogsmeade occasionally.

He loved watching their faces light up as they ate his pastries, making all of his work worth it.

It was just one of those days when it happened, he'd just hand delivered a wedding cake to a pair of starry eyed lovers. Regulars in his shop since they'd been tiny, wide eyed hogwart's firsties dressed in yellow and green.

He'd just gotten back to his little bakery, an old well worn store, made of wood and timber. It was just luck that it happened just as he finished closing up for the day when it happened.

His 10" Pine wand was out, and finishing its final well practiced swish to pack up for the day as it occurred.

The hair rose on his neck, eye's dilating to the size of a galleon, and his ears perked up ever so slightly as the strangest of sounds washed over him.

Of course it wouldn't seam that odd to an outsider's perspective.

It was a chiming sound, like wind chimes, washing over his little bakery. Charles face twitched, his pupil somehow expanding into the whites of his eyes as he struggled to see something, ears strained beyond human ability to hear its sound.

The sound reverberated through the shop like a wave, chime in ever so _otherworldly_ way. The tiny little shop before rippling with to the sounds rhythm. Red turning violet, gray turning yellow and the world _bending and twisting_ in _so_ many ways.

Through all Charles stared at the center of this thing that ripped away the so thin film of his reality.

Inside The anomaly he saw an **_void_** filled with _nothing_ yet never _**empty**._

An abyssal place filled with obsidian platforms, and strange whale like creatures that made his brain feel like sandpaper-itchy, rough, and constantly being worked away.

At the very center he saw a throne.

A throne of unnaturally smooth/ _rough_ obsidian, with metallic gold weaved into it folds. A throne that made him feel like an ant looking elephant.- _it's going smoosh me!_

Atop the throne sat a regal being, that could only be a _god_.

He was ever youthful _yet_ always ageing, with formal attire that seemed to have almost been woven from still flickering coal, and eyes of the clearest emerald. His perfectly dark hair, setting against moon pale skin, as the _Boy/thing_ rested on its throne.

It's right hand twirled something, almost idly. If Charles could have, he would have blinked at the seemingly ordinary kitchen knife in the gods hand.

In contrast to the gods ever so royal appearance the knife was rusty, with a splintered wooden handle and a splotches of what seemed to be blood, staining the blade.

However as the god twirled the knife it seemed to _warp and twist, and shatter and go insane_. Before in its place was a straight blade of a foreign make to Charles, that was so plain in decoration it was almost _artful_.

It was just as the blade took from, that the area next to the boy quivered, Charles didn't why but he suddenly felt the urge to warn the boy, to shout and scream and rage. But any attempt at it proved worthless, still paralyzed by whatever magic held him in place.

That and warning the boy proved itself to be unneeded.

As the fabric of reality shook, almost as if it was terrified, something appeared next to the _Boy/thing_ its very existence echoing with ancient secrets and absent things.

It was ever so similar to the young boy, with hair as dark as space, and skin that echoed the moons pallor. However it's clothes were light as if made from cool ashes instead of warm ember, and it's eyes…

They were an abyssal empty black, void of any emotion, or care…

Though face spoke a different story as it smiled warmly down upon the younger god. Much like sibling passing down a treasured heirloom, or a scholar leaving their life's work in the hands of a trusted college.

The young god and it's predecessor-for what _else_ could this elder god be?- spoke in tongues that the wizard couldn't understand. The younger divine smiled, as it spoke to it's elder, showing more and more teeth. The smile growing evermore fond as time dragged on.

The elder god offered it's hand, a smile as clear as spring on its face. The youthful divine took it with a smile that made the winter all the warmer. It was as their hands met that some cosmic force spread out from their fingers like waves in the ocean.

Spires of emerald crystal crinkled into existence, growing into place on the unfathomable black platforms that littered this strange realm, and tinkling with a soft musical chime.

The rich gold that once embroidered the throne, of this young god, leeched into ever green emeralds.

Four ghostly figures seemed to drip into existence. A laughing grim which lightless black fur, and burning eyes that smacked it's paws together, in a failed attempt at clapping.

A ghostly man that smiled proudly, his form far to faded to make out even as he shouted encouragement, and pulled a similarly joyful wispy woman into spine crushing hug.

A rat, that looked as if had been ripped apart, and sewn together a hundred times over. Bound by chains that prevented it from moving or speaking, and yet the rat struggled and managed a flimsy thumbs up despite its confines.

And last but not least was a wolf, warped and cursed with strange teeth, and blood hungry eyes, that stood stock still as if afraid of being thrown away. However even in it's unnatural stillness the creature looked pleased as punch.

Movement drew the youthful wizards attention back to the two gods, their finger entwined in what many could mistake for a hand shake, as the god pulled the younger one form his throne and into a hug like an old friend.

It lasted but a few fleeting seconds but it created a moment to be remembered for an eternity. However by the small mournful smile on the young gods face, that it was still to short, as the fading god released the ascending divine from it's hold.

Then with a wave and a few words said once again in a tongue Charles couldn't fathom, the god with ashen clothes turned around ,and disappeared, wrinkling like mirage into non-existence.

The young divine, sighed mournfully as it sat upon its throne once again. A heart rending smile on its face, though still holding a happy tint.

It was then that the laughing grim nuged it's wolfish companion. The wolf still frozen in it's fear, jumped into the air at the feeling of contact. The Grim just continued it laugh as it barked at it's cursed companion.

The bark somehow taking on a cajoling tone as it taunted it's fellow canine. Shoving the wolf along with its snout, as the wolf, suddenly -and ironically- looked like a deer in the headlights.

The grim however didn't stop, simply shoving the wolf along until they joined the god next to it's throne. The grim gleefully taking its place beside the gods throne, while the blood hungry wolf suddenly looked more like a put-out kitten than anything.

Even so the wolf shuffled into place to the left of the Young divinity, and despite its earlier hesitance looked quite content.

It was as the the two wolves settled into their places that they howled in perfect unison, that Charles finally realized just why he was here.

It was only then did the chime stop, and it was only then that Charles found himself flying backwards, into his quaint little bakery-laughing all the way.

Fleeting madness glinting in his eyes as he laughed, the canine howl's that enveloped Britain, and deafened the world going unheard by Charles in his moment of madness.

it would be strange for no one to witness a coronation wouldn't it?

He just couldn't help but find it all so funny! Like it was the best joke in the world Charles laughed.

Let it be known that the insane didn't always have to make sense.

* * *

Pandora Lovegood was brilliant woman, a genius in fact.

She was a pretty almost tan woman with blond hair, and silvery blue eyes that shined with an intellect beyond what most people could understand. She had in the mere (for a witch) thirty years she'd lived, created ten spells, refined over fifty, edited twenty, and -in what many would consider her crowning achievement- Refined one ritual.

Pandora however knew better.

No her crowning achievement was her child. Luna Lovegood, having just turned six that February, was pretty little tot with her mother's silvery blue eyes and her father's platinum blonde hair, and pale skin. Luna was such a bright child, always giggling at her father or smiling as her mother ranted about magical theories.

She had also inherited her mother's genius, and her curiosity. The little blond already questioning just about everything she heard, or saw.

It was adorable to say the least but as much as she wanted to, Pandora couldn't focus on her daughter a the moment.

For she was doing something many wizards and witches alike thought impossible. For Pandora Lovegood was editing a ritual, in her basement of all things!

She had all the math, done perfectly, the runic array was done with pin-point precision, and she'd checked it over ten different times wither ten different runic formulas.

It was as close to perfect as humanly possible, and the presence of her daughter behind her playing with her building blocks, only pushed her to perfect it even further.

So she smiled at her daughter one last time drawing confidence from her presence, before she pushed magic into the almost invisible circular diagram on the floor.

Pandora laughed as shapes cuts so fine, they went unseen lit up an glowed an _impossible_ shade of blue. It was then that the circle began to spread just predicted, engraving itself into the smooth stone of the rookery basement.

Her exhilarated laughter only grew as each line burned itself into the hard rock, the stone glowing a magma red even as the lines themselves glowed a mind altering blue.

However soon her laughter stopped.

The blue lines grew and grew carving themselves a new home within the ancient stones of the rookery. Then they hit the barrier.

Burning red as they hit the mystical barrier, that was created for the sole purpose to stop them should they grow too far. The blue power flooding the runes burned red slowing and stiffening like coagulated blood, as the once smooth flow slowed, turning chunky and sour like milk past its do.

Like a tank the power built up against the barrier struggling to spread further, like a diseased animal as it scratched away at the barrier.

Pandora couldn't find it in herself to breath, as the she hear the clink of glass breaking, the now red lines of power having managed to put a small, almost infinitesimal crack within the barrier.

She watched in mute horror as the crack spread like little spider webs tinkling with an almost musical sound as they spun their way across the barrier.

Then the barrier shattered line fine china, and for a moment, one precious second, the overwhelming power stayed still. Like someone had hit the pause button, the sickly lines hesitating for just a second.

Pandora Lovegood was brilliant, a genius beyond measure, a mind beyond comprehension that worked amazingly well under pressure. As in that second, a span of time so small that if it was physical it would be invisible to the naked eye, Pandora calculated hundred of equations, and scenarios.

In that one unseeable second Pandora Lovegood, figured out the exact results of what would occur should the power spread. She raced through runes, tore spells apart piece by piece, and in that second Pandora Lovegood knew exactly what to do.

Then the power flooded out, like a beast released from its cage, and Pandora _moved_.

She shot towards Luna, the lines of power hot on her heels as she ran like the devil was after her.

However Pandora was anything but a "physical" person, far more involved in research and calculation. Perhaps if she had been, she could have simply grabbed her child and ran from the basement. As it was however she barely managed to grab Luna, before she activated her spell.

Golden light lit up in a spherical shape, warring against the sickly energy as it cascaded throughout the basement. Protecting the girl against all it could.

What she did was to put it mildly-a masterpiece made in desperation.

It was in all simplicity, a shield. Had someone throne meteorite the size of Jupiter at them they would have survived without a scratch. A shield that could shrug off unforgivables like they were particularly disgusting cockroaches. A shield that held the woman's _wish_ for her child to live on.

However like all desperate masterpieces it was flawed.

Had she had more time, she could have made it a truly unstoppable spell, that even the weakest squib could cast like cheap candy.

As it was within the few second it had been active the shield had already eaten through every drop of the women's magic. In three second it would carve its way through her mind, in eight devour her physical form, and by the ninth it would start to nip at her soul.

It would took a total of ten second for the energy to not only release, but to also disperse back to harmless levels once more. Through it all, the six year old Luna Lovegood would watch as her mother, forgot everything, as she dispersed into golden shards, and as her soul was chewed at like a special treat.

In ten seconds, the shield would disperse.

In ten seconds Luna Lovegood would fall to the floor, unconscious, not a scratch upon her skin, or a bruise insight.

In twenty seconds Luna Lovegood would open her eyes, shattered like glass, iridescent lights of things one should not see, glistening through the cracks in her shattered crystal eyes.

Because Pandora Lovegood was a genius, and like all other geniuses, prone to over looking simple facts.

In twenty one seconds Luna Lovegood would open her mouth and scream.

Rituals were after all, a spiritual affair.

It would be seven long months before Luna Lovegood's screams would stop.

* * *

 **(A/N)**

 **The differences between Editing Refining spells and rituals**

 **Editing refers to modifying a spell to do something that wasn't within it's purview.**

 **Example: take a fertility spell meant to make having children easier, and change it so that it will instead make the ground more fertile for plants to grow.**

 **Refining on the other hand refers to making a spell/ritual better at what it already does.**

 **Example: taking a spell that grows grass slowly over time, and making it so it grows grass instantly.**

 **Well thats a wrap folks, feel free to PM if you have any questions, and please leave a review!**


	3. Third to Twist in Time

Vernon Dursley wasn't sure what was going on, as he stumbled into the church he'd left his nephew in yesterday. He wasn't quite sure why though? He'd agreed a year ago that he'd never have his nephew cleansed again, he swore on his blood right in front of Petunia as well.

Not after the last one, Harry thankful didn't seem to remember it. But then again five year olds didn't really remember much anyway. But that was unimportant, he thought.

He'd been standing outside the church for almost an hour, when he'd finally called it quits. The only reason he'd waited outside so long was because the priest had warned him not to go in without permission.

He was once again, not totally sure why he'd put such trust in the priest. But he was such a _nice_ man, so _calm_ and _charismatic_. Their was just no way such _good_ man, could do anything bad to Harry.

Right?

So it was that he went towards the church entrance, but as soon as his hand landed on the door knob, he couldn't help but think he'd forgotten something.

Had he left the tea kettle on? He turned an started to leave only to stop and blink.

But… no he shrugged the feeling off. If he had Petunia would have turned it off by now, and if not it could wait till he had Harry.

Oh, he'd left the car running! He turned to leave again, but stopped and scowled.

The bloody car didn't matter! It would have already been running or an hour or so anyway. If it wouldn't start he would bloody well walk back once he had his Nephew!

Twisting back towards the door he, through pure bull headed stubbornness, and mild anger simply didn't notice the feeling that he'd forgotten to kiss his wife on the way out, as he shoved the great wooden door open.

The door shot open with a groan, the metallic snap of the deadbolt breaking lost within the great wooden moan.

However the whaleish man froze mid stride, his charge halted by pure surprise at the churches contents.

To put it in perspective the outside of the church looked quite alright, each brick l while lacking the typical red sheen of fresh brick, held the all the qualities of a well maintained building. The grass was freshly cut, no windows were broken, and the bell up in the tower had a thick sturdy rope, that almost made you think it was brand new.

However the inside of the building looked far closer to castle that had just suffered a siege, than a place of holy carpets looked like they had been ripped up by an amateur, and the stone floors beneath, had large chunks missing, the wallpaper had been worn away to point the stone walls were visible, an took sandpaper to the stone under it.

The window drapes had been chewed away by bugs and other vermin, leaving nothing but thread bare rags.

Stunned by the sheer contrast, he stared almost uncomprehendingly at the room, that had been besieged. Ransacked by pitless vermin, and (apparently) an incompetent carpenter.

It was almost a minute before the eldest Dursley had broken from his stupor. Replacing the vacant look in his eye was a fierce determination.

A determination to punch that rotten bloody priest in the bollocks!

It was quite obvious he hadn't quite been the upstanding man of god he'd claimed, when they'd met.

So with a heavy resolve the man set out searching every room in the church, finding only the faintest signs of someone living their.

It was when he was just about to throw in the towel and call the bobbies that he found what he was looking for.

It was only by chance, and in-attention that he stumbled (tripped over) on the set of cellar doors on his way to the car. Pulling the heavy set metal doors open however was far easier said than done. Meaning it was a puffing Vernon that slouched into the cellar.

His feet cracking sharply against the stone steps, Only the roaring (and cliche) wall sconces lighting the way as his feet finally met level ground.

The cellar was dark with only the waxy flames of various candles littered about lighting what appeared to been an ancient wine cellar.

It must have been quite a successful one as well given the size of the cellar. It was almost as big as a warehouse!

When his eyes finally adjusted he was forced to withhold a gasp. In the middle of the cellar lay appeared to fifteen adults, and a single child in the center of a large almost ritualistic-ly drawn circle.

The fifteen adults, were dressed in robe like dressing and split into two groups. With fourteen of them holding various positions in the circle, close together but still obviously separate groups.

With the final adult standing just a off the middle of the circle, and in the center of this macabre sight lay a six year old boy.

His _nephew_ , the ever energetic boy, that rushed at him everyday when he came home. The same, little boy that now looked oh so _fragile_ in a tiny suit that practically hung off his still body.

Vernon let out a strangled cry as he shot towards the child.

It wasn't however the rustic ruby droplets that, flowed perpetually from the cultists' veins and out their necks, that so distressed the man however. No it was the simple blade sticking out proudly from the six year old's chest, fresh blood trickling out from underneath the six year.

It was almost like the blade took pride, from the child's death. It disgusted the man as he knelt next to his nephew. Tear streaming from his eyes as he stared at the person that held a connection to his wife's sister.

He had caused this.

It was his fault.

He had killed his nephew.

If the courts didn't sentence him he would dole out the punishment on his own. He would take responsibility for thi-

Vernon's breath hitched, the sound of stone crumbling and scratching steel, chimed into the cellar. His eyes instantly finding the source of the sound, incredulity bursting in his chest.

It was the knife-now sword.

The sword was sliding out of Harry's chest with a sound akin to a stone sheath. Like Death had reached out a hand, wrapped it's skeletal fingers around it's hilt, and pulled.

He stared his mind unable to comprehend the straight saber as it was pulled from Harry's chest in an almost hypnotic fashion. The pool of life giving liquid beneath the boy shrinking as the blade seeming pulled the blood back into the child's body.

The melodic chime of the Blade clattering to the ground like a puppet that got it's strings cut, didn't even phase the man. No it was a soft rhythmic sound of air moving, that drew the man from trance.

It was the sound of his nephew breathing.

Frantically gathering the child into his arms he put his ear to the boys chest, the steady thumb bringing peace to his mind… even if something about it sounded off.

Sobbing in relief he was brought further calm as the boys eyes fluttered open. Killing Curse green eyes, sparked into the light seemingly calling all attention to the boy as he sniffled slightly.

"Uncle?" the boy whispered. "Yes Harry?" Vernon said with a watery smile.

"Can we go home?" Vernon practically broke into a full body sob.

"Yes we can Harry, Yes we can."

* * *

As Vernon left the cellar, he didn't hear the strange drip of blood flowing backwards, he didn't hear the scratching of metal on the concrete floors as dagger few from shrinking pools of blood.

He didn't hear the manic laughter of cultists, coming back to life.

Nor did he hear their confusion as there limbs moved against their will.

Nor did he hear them scream as they died once more.

And he most certainly didn't see the satisfaction echoed in the child's eyes, as the void took it's tole.

* * *

Xenophilius Lovegood was slumped, over in a hospital chair. His hair was messy, and his eye's deep with bags. He hadn't been sleeping well these past few months. Of course that was no surprise, with his wife's recent passing, and his daughters resulting sanity.

The aurors weren't entirely sure what had happened, the only thing they really knew, was that his wife had bared her life and magic in order to shield their daughter.

Shield her from what they had no idea, but as far they could tell Pandora had succeeded.

Mostly.

Luna hadn't stopped screaming, once in the past six-seven months. Not even when she was asleep, or when her vocal cords snapped. Even choking blood hadn't stopped her screams.

But just like every morning in the past six -almost seven- months, here he was. Waiting for visiting hours to start again, just so he could visit his little moon.

At this point he couldn't really care at anything else.

So when the clock struck six A.M. he was immediately out of his seat and talking to the receptionist. She with barley a glance, handed him a visitor's pass and dismissed him.

Not that it was needed, as the second he had the pass he was immediately heading in the direction of the Long Term Damage Ward.

He'd been doing it for so long he barely acknowledged the other patients, as he navigated the white hallways of Saint Mungo's.

It was with a heavy heart that he stopped at the door to room 718. He couldn't here his daughter's, screams. But that wasn't that a surprise, one of the Healers had put up a silencing ward once it became apparent she wasn't going to stop screaming anytime soon.

Sliding the door open, he slinked inside making sure to shut the door quickly in order to not disturb the other patients. He ignored his daughter's heart piercing scream with air of practice, as he simply fell into chair he had propped up next to his daughter almost seven months ago.

You'd think after seven months of seeing his daughter, catatonic, and unresponsive you'd run out of tears. But he Xenophilius Lovegood could say that was a completely false sentiment, as tears pricked in his eyes.

He reached out a hand like everyday, pulling one of her ever tiny hands into his palm as he squeezed in hopes that just maybe she would squeeze back.

It was a vain hope, something that had resulted absolutely nothing in the months past.

So lost in his thoughts the eldest Lovegood almost didn't feel the tiny constriction, in his palm. He almost didn't notice the tiny hand clamping around one's finger in what amounted a six year old's version of a vice like grip.

He was so stunned by this realization that Xenophilius almost didn't register it as her screams stopped.

Pulling his eyes up from the infinitesimal hands that clutched his own, like a lifeline. He found pair of shattered silver eyes stare up at him. Ethereal light leaking through his child's iris as she shook like puppy in a lightning storm.

In a bout of parental instinct he pulled his little girl into his arms, without even realizing it and, sobbed a happy sob.

His daughter had stopped screaming, and was sitting in his arms like a scared animal. But she was okay and that meant the world.

But as the story goes, Luna Lovegood hadn't stopped screaming, she was just doing it in a way most people couldn't hear.

* * *

Daphne Greengrass, woke to up to the common sight of her sister jumping up and down on her bed.

Naturally this resulted in the younger girl being shoved from the bed, and onto the floor in a pouting heap.

Laughing happily the six year old girl set about her day, dressing to "Pure Blood" perfection she greeted her mother and her father, and like everyday they greeted her back.

They finished breakfast as a family, before their father set out for a day of harsh politicking. Making sure to give both of his daughter a kiss on the cheek before the mask fell into place.

Daphne wasn't quite sure why the mask was needed but it was a common sight when they were outside the house. But with a stark bit of stubborness she barely even noticed it as her father disappeared in a poof of green flames.

After her father left it was business as usual, her mother giving both Daphne and Astoria etiquette lessons. Practically beating the knowledge into their head with a stubborn glare.

It would last until lunch and then they would both have to math. The oh so dreaded numbers taunting her as her mother did her best to shove them into the young blonds skull.

Oh how glad she would be when it was dinner time, and her father would come home for the day.

But as it turned out something about today wouldn't be quite routine.

It was a simple thing really, just a knock the door. Her paused in her demonstration of a proper bow. A funny look on her face, as she walked off to see just who this visitor was, telling them to stay were they were.

It was barely ten minute later, that the shouting started.

After an hour of shouting, Daphne Greengrass decided it was enough, and marched out of the small parlor room they used for classes, and into the stairway.

Just in time to see her mother hit the bottom of the stairs.

Shrieking Daphne rushed over her mother's prone form. Sobbing incoherently as she spotted the blood leaking from her mother's head.

"Mom! Mom! MOMMY!" she screeched as shook her mother's unmoving form.

Her mom would never scold her, again.

Never laugh at her sisters antic's or her father's face when he got home after a strange day at work.

Her mom would never smile again.

Never. Smile. Again.

But Daphne wanted to see her smile.

Wanted to see her laugh and cry.

She _wished_ she could see her mother smile just one more _time_.

Then the world twisted.

* * *

Daphne Greengrass, woke to up to the common sight of her sister jumping up and down on her bed.

 _Now why did this feel so familiar?_


	4. First Of the Painter (Interlude)

Max Abrums gasped for air, finally coming to, his stomach a black hole, and his whole body begging for water. Just the smallest of _drops_! His only visible reaction being a slight scowl, as he used his weak, bony ,hands to drag his sweat soaked body towards the stash of food and water he kept at all times. (Just for this occasion in fact.)

He was use to it after all.

It was with herculean effort that he finally found an end to the many paint laiden tarps, that (as always) covered the majority of his studio, as his hand slipped over the cool cherry wood. Resulting in the realization that his body felt like furnace, as he pressed his sweat covered body against the ever so pleasantly cool wood.

In the back of his mind he noted how strange that was, after all it was usually after he'd eaten his fill and satisfy his thirst that he managed to think about anything else.

But that was discarded as soon as he reached his stash of non-perishables, and bottled water. Ripping a bottle out of the package, he lost himself in the cooling liquid as it quenched his parched throat, only to rip open some generic nutrient bar with nuts and other vitamins, and practically swallow it hole.

It was only Four bars later, and five bottle of water, did Max notice the inch or two of brown hair that was growing around his chin. How long had this one lasted? He wondered as he gorged himself on yet another nut bar.

Hardly ever tasting the morsel as he came to wares of his surroundings. All of it was quite normal-to him at least- as he scanned his art studio, the tarps a constant presence ever since he'd moved in. The recently -As far as he could remember- washed tarps, and almost common sight, if it was more varied in color it would qualify as mundane.

The walls of the small space-probably no bigger than 10ft by 10ft- layered with fabric having been magicly stuck to them, since the time he'd spattered them with cobalt paint the year before.

However in the center of the room, was a set paintings set up on an easel. Not an uncommon sight for an artist like him, if he only could remember painting it.

The painting itself was, recently done, the paint fresh upon the canvas and still shining where the minute streams of light hit it. It depicted a large slab of uneven black rock, slanted upward like a cliff and layden with green crystals, floating within an abyss of colorless space that somehow _chose,_ to dawn the murkish grey color.

Upon the edge of the mass of black, sat a teenager, or perhaps a young man? Adorned in a semi-formal, clothing of some sort, with black hair woven of the night itself, and pale skin.

Yet what was most striking, was the boys facial features. Everclear, green eyes that seemed to almost glow with intensity, and his lips in a straight line.

However if you looked closer you could just barely make the smallest of twists to his lips. The small twist of someone watching world burn and taking an almost perverse sense of amusement.

In the corner of the painting, was what looked to be a signature, in brutal and messy handwriting that somehow still held the complex elegance of someone taught by the most tortuous tutors.

 _The Sacrificial God  
_

Three ever so simple words _somehow_ branded into the painting in dark green ink, were the title of this painting. The first of eight despite, the fact he had already made three before this one.

Oh how hated his curse, why oh why did he have to break the century old process? Why did have to suffer so?

He knew the answer of course.

He knew exactly what had pushed him to break tried and true method of communication.

Arrogance.

 _Arrogance!_

Oh he'd been so assured of his own importance and invulnerability. But he suppose that came with being the seventh son, born on the seventh month, on the seventh day.

He'd been so _spoiled!_

He hadn't even though much of ignoring the ceremony, for his paintings. Enjoying solitude, that the ink had brought him wondering why he couldn't simply stay and paint for the rest of his life.

Of course, _now_ he could!

It was the _only_ thing he could do now.

No, he shook his head. He couldn't indulge in self pity right now, he could already feel the ethereal plains grasp hardening upon his body, he had mabey ten minutes before he would return to painting.

Looking upon the calendar, a present from one of his many aunts before the ceremony. At the time he'd hated it, throwing it aside as a useless thing.

Now he cherished the one thing that helped him measure his imprisonment, within his own home.

Ten days? Ten days. It had been ten days since he'd last held control of his own body.

The visions frequency had increased again.

Oh how he longed for the time when they only happened maybe once every month or so.

Sighing he looked upon his newest work, and compared it to the three that had come before it.

They were all in the same abstract style he had always loved, each focused on a single person.

His eyes drawn to the first one he had painted but knew to be the second of the set.

It was of a library, that never seen anything like, with stair going nowhere, and doors that did not open. With overarching tones of blue, that seemed to have into every corner, and tables on tables of books.

In the center of the painting was a girl, young-maybe fourteen?- with long frayed blond hair, that hid her eyes from the world. Clothed in a white dress shirt with blue and silver tie, followed shortly by a sleeved cloak and a skirt.

Her head resting on her hand, and her red lips curved in a smirk that represented a special kind of madness.

In the corner of the painting stood the title in a deep crystalline blue, written in a messy -in an impossibly neat way- scrawl.

 _She of Shattered Eyes_

He found himself wondering what her eyes actually looked like. But dismissed it, and turned to the next painting.

It was second one he had painted yet the sixth in the set.

It was of a hill, surrounded by lush forests and fruitful mountains but not a drip of blue in sight.

Trees that grew to challenge mountains, so much life it was almost strange. The painting dyed in a plethora of green. In the center a girl of indeterminable age, with red fiery hair, that look as if it would set the grass beneath her ablaze.

Her eyes were closed and her semi tan skin smooth, on her face was a smile -not a smirk, or a mere quirk of the lips- that was similar to that of a mother smiling down, and saying

" _Everything's Going to be Alright_ "

He found himself smiling at that, it was his favorite of all the painting he'd forced to make. Just looking at made him feel better.

In the corner upper corner of the painting he found the title, written in a deep green, with ever so elegant handwriting.

 _The Girl of the Hidden Grove_

Reluctantly he wrestled his eyes away from the title, and drew them to the next picture, the third he had made yet the fifth of the set.

It showed a boy-maybe eight or nine years old- sitting in a dark place, that was familiar to the painter. Lit by a bright fiery orange that colored the boys skin. The boy was holding an orb of red energy that pulsed with a happiness, as the boy stared down at it with a soft spoken smile.

A smile that told of a man who could walk into a building of people hired to kill him, only make friends with every single one of them even as they sent a dark curse of every variety his way.

Titled in a deep burning red, with casually messy handwriting were the words.

 _Friend of Fallen Magic_

He smiled sadly as he felt his string pulled,and found himself standing again, with his hand reaching for a brush. He seemed to have wasted his time looking at his toils again.

"Oh well" Max grunted to himself, his voice hoarse from un-use "A painter must paint." he finished mere seconds before his world rippled to white, and he began to paint once more.

Such was the fate of those who had irritated a _goddess_ of crafts.


End file.
